


The Devil Within

by Sapphire09



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Blood, Gore, Non explicit gore, dark matt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-14 01:09:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11197302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphire09/pseuds/Sapphire09
Summary: There once a heart that beats as any other.It was special, familiar, a light within the dark.Then, someday, it stopped."I love you," the owner said, blood in his lips."I hear you," I want to say. I did. I swear.But you couldn't hear me anymore.Then there was darkness. In that darkness, my Devil woke.There was no light to keep him at bay.There was no heartbeat to keep him asleep."Be careful of the Murdock boys. They got the devil in 'em"





	The Devil Within

**Author's Note:**

> prompt fill for this: http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/8773.html?thread=17758789#cmt17758789  
> First time ever writing for Daredevil! Non-beta'ed do there are most likely mistakes. Also, the summary sucks. Probably enough with that last quote, but I want that little nonsense of a poem there anyway.  
> And, this is probably the shortest piece I've ever posted here..... Huh....

The rapid footsteps reaching for the warehouse no longer concerned him. How could he, when there's nothing left. The blood reaching his nostrils wasn't an irritant anymore, too used to the smell of blood. Not even this much blood bothers him, not right now, unlike a few hours ago. Not even the blood sticking on his armor, on his skin, on his jaw.

On his lips.

He heard himself breathe, his own heart beating fast. The footsteps were closing in, reaching for the rusty door at the side of the warehouse. The grit and dust moved as the door opens, however the newcomer no longer relevant. The form was familiar, even though he didn't understand why _he_ would be here. There was no reason _he_ should try to stop him, or even to try. But, there was a gasp, horrified and choked, as if _he_ had any reason to be horrified.

There were only two heartbeats inside the warehouse. Himself, and the newcomer. But the bodies strewn around them was more to count with both hands.

He felt his lips turned up in a smirk, the blood on his lips led a little trail to his chin. He tasted blood on his tongue, on his teeth--

_("... I'm going to die, God, I don't want to die... Please, Matty... Can you hear me?")_

"You're late, Frank. I already took care of them."

There was something careful in Frank's movement as he stepped over the blood, puddles and square miles of the warehouse were covered in them. Matt knew, he could smell it.

He put them there. He couldn't see for shit, but his hearing was great. He heard every bit as they splashed and poured over every nearest surface. He thought he even revelled in the sound.

"Red," Frank said, his voice was so careful that Matt felt his smirk grown. "Red, can you hear me?"

The laugh that came out of Matt's lips was loud in the warehouse where only two of them were the only living ones. Even through his laughter, he heart Frank's heartbeat getiing faster, faster--

"Don't you know, Frank? I can't see for shit, but my hearing's great! Why wouldn't I hear you?"

 _("I love you, Matty.... Can you hear me? Fuck, I'm scared... Please, pick u-GHKK_ _")_

Another tentative footstep. Matt could almost taste that bit of Fear, smell the sweat pouring from skin. The smell of copper around him, the sound of sirens in the distance, the absence of Foggy Nelson's hearbeat near his feet.

This is hell, his hell, and it will forever be his place.

He laughed again, the Devil in him roared its freedom. There was no God for him left to plead to, no trace of Heaven he could ever enjoy. There was no hope, no joy, no love left for him. There was only _this_.

There was only the Devil and he takes his dues. And the world, the wicked, and the sinner owe him Foggy Nelson.

* * *

Frank fingered his gun, wondering if he should shoot the laughing man who is still bathed in red. He couldn't even see the distinction where his suit begun or if it was just blood covering his form. Frank wasn't new to murder or even mass murder. Frank was fine with those, as long as the people that were murdered deserved it.

And these people, lying lifelessly on the puddle of their blood deserved it. He was sure of this.

But, their murderer was Red. Red, who was so vehemantly against the act of taking a life. Red, who simply _doesn't kill._

Red, whose mask was lying on the ground, near a body much less bloodied than the rest. There was blood on his lips, bloodied fingermark trail on his cheek, and wetness on his unmasked face that could be anything. Red, whose blindness had always made his uncovered stare glassy, unfocused and seeing through objects. However, there was always a kind of fire in them, a determination to face evil his way.

The Red in front of him has the eyes of the dead. Vacant and empty, even as he laughed the laughter of the mad and the angry, of one who has nothing more to lose. Then, he begun to actually notice the figure near Red's feet. Who, even through his laughter, hadn't moved that foot away. It was firmly planted as if he wanted to a little bit of him to be physically  _near_ even though the mad man himself didn't realize it. He didn't even need to look closer at the body to see why. The body, even though bloodied, was far from being as bloodied as the everything else inside the warehouse. There were blood on the body's lips, on his temple, around his neck and torso. But, even through the blood, Frank  _knew_ that face anywhere.

Frank realized, the man in front of him is not Red anymore. This is the Devil. And the Devil is playing judge, jury, and executioner.

And he's taking no prisoner.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I tried.
> 
> This is also probably the most cliche that ever cliche'd. Kinda like it anyway, so meh.


End file.
